


so in love with simple things

by holtzmanns



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, M/M, S11 Tour, Softness, ish, not really angst, when feelings are Hard and u just wanna spend time w ur should-be boo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 08:05:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19884343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holtzmanns/pseuds/holtzmanns
Summary: “What brings you here?” Brooke leans against the doorway, clad in sweats like every other single day on the road. At least he fucking bought a new pair - Vanessa had been ready to do it himself if Brooke hadn’t.Vanessa shrugs at his question. “I’m hungry.”He’s not that hungry. He just needs an excuse to spend time with him.Brooke sees right through it, by the glint in his eye. Doesn’t care, apparently, as he grabs his wallet from the hotel room bedside table. Ignores the clock that reads 2:42 am.Or, a late night snack excursion and running through the summer rain like nothing else matters, not really.





	so in love with simple things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [writworm42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/writworm42/gifts).



> Did I write this instead of applying for jobs like I should be doing? Yes. I regret nothing. For writ, who wanted some softness and instead got whatever this is. Thank you bean for betaing and being the best.
> 
> Title from 'Free Spirit' by Khalid.

Vanessa’s sure that the grin on Brooke’s face, the one all spread across his features and crinkling at his eyes when he opens the door mirrors the one on his own. 

“Hey,” Brooke says. 

“Hey yourself.” 

“What brings you here?” Brooke leans against the doorway, clad in sweats like every other single day on the road. At least he fucking bought a new pair - Vanessa had been ready to do it himself if Brooke hadn’t. 

Vanessa shrugs at his question. “I’m hungry.” 

He’s not _that_ hungry. He just needs an excuse to spend time with him. 

Brooke sees right through it, by the glint in his eye. Doesn’t care, apparently, as he grabs his wallet from the hotel room bedside table. Ignores the clock that reads _2:42 am_. 

“Snack run?”

“Now _that’s_ what I’m talking about, bitch.” 

It’s like they can read each other’s minds. Would this be considered a Nicholas Sparks movie moment? Probably not. But still. It’s nice. 

Their hands brush each others’ as easy as breathing. It shouldn’t feel so natural, so simple, the way Brooke’s hand squeezes his as they cross at an empty intersection. 

It’s like no time has passed at all. 

Except that it has. 

That’s for Vanessa to turn over in his mind another day. Not tonight, when they’re in a dingy 24-hour convenience store and grabbing stupidly sugary snacks that will definitely give both of them a headache. 

Tour feels strangely easy, strangely right. Vanessa had thought that they’d be doing an intricate dance around each other the entire time, avoiding the feelings and pain and longing and fucking pining that he knows _he’s_ been experiencing, at least. 

But they’ve never been that way. Not ever. 

Not after they first broke up, when they ended up back in each other’s beds after only a week. Not after their season premiered, when rare nights in hotel rooms felt like heaven. Not after the reunion, with their baggage and their hearts ripped clean open for the world to see, to comment on. Not when they sought comfort in each other, the only other person who could _understand._

So, it makes sense. Touring and ending up beside each other on the bus, borrowing eyeshadow palettes and wigs and jewelry in the dressing room to wear a piece of the other. Hamming it up on stage for the screaming fans and laughing along because it’s a joke; it’s their schtick. Or so they let everyone think. 

Vanessa looks at him when he thinks he’s not paying attention and sometimes he swears that he catches Brooke glimpsing his way, too. 

He lets out a grunt while attempting to balance the bags in his grip as they walk back, filled with pop and chips and candy and all the shit that neither of them should be eating. Hell, they can pass it off to Silky and A’keria. It don’t matter. He looks up at Brooke, whose arms are similarly full. He’s already cracked open a Red Bull, and the bob of his Adam’s apple when he takes a sip is enough to make Vanessa want to look away. 

The obnoxious neon glow of the hotel sign is visible from blocks away as they walk, a beacon that’s pulling them not only back to tour, but back to each other. It crackles under the dark sky, illuminating the street in purples and pinks as it blinks on and off, the bulbs from the 90s that sit inside close to burning out, never to be fixed again. 

The only thing that shines brighter is the tendril of lightning that illuminates the sky, the crack of thunder following loud enough to make both of them jump, look at each other. 

“We didn’t bring an umb-”

The rain falls hard and fast. “Shit!”

Vanessa’s yell makes Brooke cackle, grab onto his hand in response and tug on his arm, breaking into a run. Vanessa’s about to drop the bags but he doesn’t care, not when their shoes are soaked and their hair is wet and their clothes are sticking to their bodies like they just fucking rode Splash Mountain, cause it’s so much _fun._ It’s like he’s twelve again, when he ran home from the bus stop without the raincoat or umbrella that his ma has yelled to take with him that same morning. 

Who needs protection from the rain, anyway? Not gonna kill you. Not like other things can. 

He’s always loved it. Tampa’s humid as hell, the stuffiness of the air all heavy and moist but not quite refreshing. The occasional rain had always felt like a fucking cleanse back then, more so than showers ever did. 

And now, as they reach the hotel in breathless laughter and shaky hands that can’t quite open the side door of the building with their keycards, he feels clean. 

Brooke’s room comes before his, in the hallway. 407. His 412 lies ten steps farther, three doors down and on the other wall, facing Brooke’s. It feels ten steps too far. 

Brooke pushes the key card into the door, gets the green light. Opens it. Doesn’t go in. 

He turns towards Vanessa, instead, when the blast of air conditioner sends shivers through both of their bodies. Their soaked clothing now feels heavy, like cold sheets of ice that burn the skin. 

“We can eat some of this stuff together?” Brooke phrases it like a question as he lifts a bag up, the tentativeness a contrast from him in the daytime. All self assured and unbothered and shit. 

Vanessa feels the smile on his face. It’s obnoxious, really, the way Brooke’s strange quirks are so fucking endearing. At least, to him. No one else ever seems affected. 

“Yeah sure, why not.” As if he wasn’t jumping on saying yes in the first place. 

So Brooke holds the door open for Vanessa and he ducks under his arm as he enters, dropping the bags on the table. Brooke shakes out his soaking wet curls the way that Vanessa’s dog does, droplets peppering nearby surfaces. He then tugs off his shirt with _complete_ disregard for Vanessa’s feelings, really, not noticing the way that Vanessa can’t keep his eyes from roaming along the ripple of his back muscles as he tosses the shirt on top of one of his suitcases. 

Or maybe he does notice. Maybe he’s doing it on purpose. 

Vanessa’s always been too weak to resist a response.

Brooke still has his sweatpants on when he turns to Vanessa, head cocked sideways just a little bit as he stands in the bathroom door. “You don’t want to stay all soaking from the rain, do you?”

“What are you playing at?” He’s gonna make Brooke spell it out. Doesn’t wanna assume shit the way he always does. 

Brooke turns on the shower in response, looks at him with those stupid blue eyes as the bathroom mirror starts to steam up.

Oh, what the hell. Why not. It’s already almost three. Might as well get no sleep at all. 

So he tugs off his shirt too, catches the way Brooke’s eyes linger. 

Nice to know it’s not just him. 

Well, he _knows_. But he needs the reassurance sometimes. That it’s not one sided. 

From the way that Brooke tugs on his pants, his boxers, pulls him into the cramped shower, it can’t be. 

Brooke dots his back with kisses in the shower, nips which will make his skin bloom into constellations by the next morning. He doesn’t have it in him right now to stop it from happening. Brooke is warm and thaws Vanessa from the inside out when he leans his head forward for a second, resting it on Vanessa’s shoulder. 

Brooke tugs the shampoo bottle out of Vanessa’s hand when he goes to grab it, instead opening it himself and lathering up a bit in his hands. Vanessa can’t help but let out a noise when Brooke massages his scalp, fingers in soft circles through his hair that make him close his eyes and lean into the touch. 

Vanessa grabs the bottle again when it’s his turn, building up bubbles in his hands but then Brooke is too fucking _tall,_ he can’t reach. Skyscraper. He can’t help but pout when Brooke lets out a laugh, especially when going on his tiptoes doesn’t make him tall enough to reach the top of his hair either. 

Brooke takes pity on him, leans against the wall and crouches down. Much better.

Brooke’s curls have darkened under the water, all weighed down and flopping on his forehead. Vanessa brushes them away from his eyes, watches Brooke let out a little hum as the bubbles roll down his shoulders, down his body, down the drain. 

They have nights where they don’t talk, can’t talk about it. Where the only way they can get their messages across to each other is through quick fucks and bruising touches that leave ghostly imprints on their skin that they try and ignore in the morning. Those nights always leave Vanessa feeling worse off, trying to grasp at something that he feels is slipping out of his fingers, disappearing fast. He pushes extra hard during the performances that follow such nights, letting the resulting sore muscles and gasps for breath distract him, make him aware of sensations other than the one in his heart that won’t stop thinking about Brooke.

This night feels different. Maybe it’s because it’s nearly 4 am (thank _fuck_ they don’t have a show the next day, nowhere to be, no call time) and they’re both holding back yawns while they dry off, but when they’re done and Brooke gestures to his bed, Vanessa follows. 

Neither of them stay the night, most of the time. It’s easier that way, helps to separate the satisfaction of their physical needs from the cracks in their hearts that so desperately want to be fixed. But climbing into Brooke’s bed, curling into his side when an arm is wrapped around his torso feels so fucking easy, snacks long forgotten on the table. Makes him wonder why they haven’t been doing it the whole time, broken hearts be damned. 

Vanessa feels the rise and fall of Brooke’s chest underneath his fingers, the way that it grows deeper with every breath. It matches his own, the synchronicity making it feel like they’re on the same wavelength, for once.

It feels right. Like where they should have been the whole time. 

He’s not sure if he’s dreaming when he feels the ghost of a kiss brush against the top of his head - could be his own mind making things up, not that he’d admit how much he wants it to be real. But then Brooke’s arm around him squeezes his side gently, pulls him in closer until they’re both defrosting the icicles that have been lanced through both of their chests. 

Maybe it’s the late time (fucking crack of dawn), the exhaustion from travelling between cities and not staying long enough to remember their names. But falling asleep with Brooke’s arm around him, legs slotted between his like gears that fit together perfectly makes his heart calm down, feel safe. Feel appreciated.

Feel loved.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think! 
> 
> Find me on tumblr at @plastiquetiaras.


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